


How Loud and Clear I Hear It

by amaradangeli



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: An AU S/J romance with a westward-expansion bent. There are arranged marriage/mail-order bride elements, a little mystery and intrigue, smart and scientific ladies, men behaving well, men behaving poorly, and lots of awkward (then not so awkward) getting to know you and domestic moments. Jack's still Jack (former military, healing from the loss of his wife & son), Sam's still Sam (insanely smart scientist, daughter of a general), and the others are still themselves too. They're just doing it all in the mid-late 1860s.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 71
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is currently ideas that are coming together in chapters. So please be patient with my brain. I'm also in the process of relocating my entire life, so sometimes I might get... distracted by that process. I'm not sure how many words/chapters we're talking here, only what I want to happen as the story progresses and how it ends. Is it supremely weird (and a little scary) to be sharing a story of size not having a beaten path in front of me? For sure. But I'm ready to have fun writing again, so here we are. 
> 
> This work is being _betaed_ (gasp, right?). Many thanks to Fems for being the first set of eyes on this thing. She catches a lot of my little (and many) typos, but sometimes we get all human-like and they slip by. Please feel free to report glaring errors. But mostly, she handles the big, existential questions like: how much of that was boring?
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys!

Jack ran his hand along the freshly brushed withers of Norma, his dark bay mare, before settling the saddle blanket in place. The rich, distinctive scent of neatsfoot oil on the saddle at his feet tickled his nose. This smell heralded adventure: even if what passed for adventure these days was a trip into town. Once the horse was properly under tack, he tied a small leather pouch to the saddle and swung up into place. 

Norma, being on the north side of fifteen, rarely got excited about leaving the barn. When asked, she’d move along at a gracious enough clip that Colorado Springs was just an hour away. But Jack didn’t feel like pushing the horse _or_ his backside. An amble to town would be fine enough in the beautiful June weather. 

As he and Norma plodded away from the barn and past his father’s small cabin, he let out a shrill whistle that made Norma’s ears flatten against her head, though her gait didn’t falter. A pipe appeared just ahead of the older man as he stepped out on the porch and waved in Jack’s direction, calling, “Tell Janet I wouldn’t turn down a blueberry pie and a visit if she can manage it.” 

“Will do.” 

His father nodded and went back inside to whatever book he was presently reading. Jack had a tough time keeping track, with the way he plowed through them. The mental list he had running of stops to make while in town was growing. He thought it might be nice to see if Daniel had any new books he’d be eager to share then discuss on his next trip out to the farm. And now he also needed to stop at his brother and sister-in-law's place to deliver a request padded in an invitation – not that Janet would mind. When he added the stops for his father to his own mental list, he started to think he should have gotten an earlier start. 

The gentle motion of the horse, the warmth of the early summer sun, and the variety of birdsong lulled Jack into a contemplative state. He’d loved this place as soon as he arrived. When he set foot on the land where he, his father, and his brother built first the barn and then the smaller cabin, he felt like tongue that had settled into a finely honed groove, even at seventeen. 

And now it’s been twenty-three years. He fought a war, married, built his own cabin, had a son, buried that son along with his wife and mother, and only just managed to stay out of another war. It was a lot of life for two short decades, but days like this made it all seem long and slow. 

Sara, his wife, had loved summertime. She couldn’t get enough of the warmth of the sun on her skin. If he tried hard enough, he could remember the feel of the sun in her skin against his palms. Five years hadn’t dulled the sense-memories of the smell of her hair or the sound of Charlie’s laugh. The pain wasn’t the same sharp lance in his chest, but a dull ache persisted. And it was the chief reason he didn’t travel into town much during Sara’s favorite time of year, or spend all that much time with his brother’s family, or fill his free time with overnight stays in town the way bachelors often did. For Jack, it wasn’t a question of morality, only loyalty. 

Sometimes, usually in the coldest part of winter or in his favorite moment of the day when the sun crept onto his porch, he thought about maybe, perhaps, one day, remarrying. The thoughts were fleeting and half-formed, they were unusual, and half-hearted. He’d learned how to cook his own good dinners and mend his own torn clothes. When he was sore for company, he played chess with his father or visited town and family and friends. When he was sorest, there was the saloon. In five years he hadn’t been needful enough to go upstairs. But he wasn’t naïve enough to think that what wasn’t palatable in five years wouldn’t also be practical in six. For now, recollecting his wife helped him slake his own thirsts. 

He was still a bit off from town when he began to detect the steady sound of Teal’c's hammer against iron. For a man who did the blacksmithing for all of Colorado Springs out of something of an inside joke and as a secondary source of income, he was incredibly good at it. Something Teal’c had noticed, as he made his way west, was the propensity for the few other black men he encountered to be blacksmiths. The great joke of it all was that Teal’c was, primarily, a skilled diplomat and negotiator. And he was, in fact, the town’s only educated lawyer. 

Sure enough, as Jack and Norma approached the forge, conveniently located right outside his office, Teal’c was putting the finishing touches on what appeared to be wall art, rather than the horseshoe Jack had anticipated. Seeing the work by his friend’s deft hand, he felt almost bad untying the leather pouch from the saddle and fishing the pin-half of a snipe hinge out of it. “Mornin'.” 

“O’Neill,” he said with one final punishing strike. “I did not expect to see you today.” 

Though they hadn’t been friends for very many years, Teal’c already knew him well enough to know that he didn’t do a lot of socializing in Sara’s favorite month. 

“Well, the list got long. And I broke the pin clean off Norma’s stall hinge this morning. Figured you might be able to fix it.” 

“I can,” he affirmed, and dropped the broken cotter pin into the big pocket of his apron which he then removed and hung on a nail under the lean-to that protected his outdoor workspace from inclement weather. “It is good you are here. Come into the office.” 

Jack dismounted and curled Norma’s reins around the hitching post in front of the long building were Teal’c had an office. Jack kicked the toes of one boot and then the other against the riser of the step just below the decking to knock loose the biggest clumps of dirt before stepping inside the warm-toned, well-appointed room. Teal’c looked as out of place as he always did: his well-worn duck canvas trousers and scuffed boots were mostly hidden by the corner of his large wooden desk gleaming with shellac. 

Teal’c picked up an envelope that looked fancier than any stationery Jack recalled ever seeing before — either in this office or out of it. 

“Whatcha got there?” 

Rather than answer, he held it out and suggested, “You should see Janet.” 

"About the letter?” 

“Yes, O’Neill.” 

“Why?” 

“I do believe she will be best able to provide an explanation.” 

Warily, Jack accepted the envelope. Janet and her husband — Jack's brother — lived not too far off the street that bisected what passed for _town_ but he knew they wouldn’t be home. Several doors down was the town clinic. They’d both be there, generally were. 

He left Norma tied out front of Teal’c’s office and set off on foot, temporarily bypassing the other errands he’d planned on — what with the envelope practically making his palm itch with the questions it raised. 

He wasn’t surprised to see several people sitting on a bench out front waiting their turn. He bypassed the closed door with a sign that said _Ring for Doctor_ and went in through the open door marked _Pharmacy_. As expected, behind the counter, was his brother. “Hello, Eli. Is the doc in?” 

The slightly younger man finished weighing out a measure of yellow powder before turning to his brother with a grin. Neither of them grew tired of using Janet’s title in place of her name, impressed as they were by the way she’d both completed medical school and come all the way out to Colorado on her own. “She’s in, but she’s up to her eyebrows in patients.” 

Jack slid the envelope across the counter. “You know anything about this? Teal’c gave it to me and told me to talk to Janet.” 

“Looks like a letter.” 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah.” 

“You read it?” 

It was a fair question. He _could_ have just read it. But the fancy feel of the paper has set him on edge and he wasn't embarrassed to say he was a little nervous. “No.” 

Something about his voice, or maybe the pensive look on his face, kept Eli from giving him the sort of teasing a brother normally would. “You want me to read it?” 

Jack thought about it a moment. “No.” 

“All right, then.” 

He thought about it a little more, then tapped the envelope with one definitive finger. “Yes.” 

Eli flipped the envelope over and lifted the flap, anyway. “Last chance, brother?” 

“How bad do you think this is gonna be?” 

He skimmed the letter once, his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline as he moved down the page. Then, he cleared his throat and read what was clearly the last paragraph. 

_I am sending my belongings ahead, as I’m afraid my nerves might get the better of me. I hope that it won’t be an inconvenience to Mr. O’Neill. My train ticket has been purchased for my trip from Baltimore to Denver. I’m told procuring stage transportation to Colorado Springs from there is easy enough. I am grateful for your willingness to arrange this in conjunction with my father. He has allowed me to read his previous correspondence with both you, Mr. Chulak, and Mr. O’Neill’s sister by marriage, which mostly assuaged my concerns that Mr. O’Neill’s reluctance to remarry might persist. It is understandable, under the circumstances, but I agree that the arrangement could be beneficial for us both and I_ _do_ _intend to be a useful wife for him. I look forward to the time when we can finally meet and sanctify this union. With regards, Sam._

For a long moment, Jack couldn’t think of any words to say. The very first that came to mind were, “Eli, perhaps you should go interrupt that wife of yours.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam scrutinized the three dresses spread out across her bed. “I really like the blue silk.” 

“You look beautiful in it,” Rebecca agreed. 

They’d been at this for more than an hour and Sam felt certain that her friend had even less idea of what would be appropriate to take to Colorado Springs than Sam did herself. But the support felt nice. “I can’t imagine there will be much call for silk.” 

“You’ll ruin your hems.” Rebecca ran deft fingertips along the bottom edge of the dress. “But you might ruin them here too. You should take it.” 

“I could put three books in the space it takes up!” 

Her friend rolled her eyes. “I’ll _send_ you your books if you still want them once you’re there. You’re getting _married,_ Sam. This would be perfect for the wedding.” 

Sam considered the dress carefully. She did want to wear something pretty during the ceremony. But she didn’t want her new husband to think she had designs on their union that she didn’t. Maybe this dress was too much. She huffed and snatched it off the bed, folding it quickly and placing it into the bottom of the trunk. 

Rebecca pretended not to notice the monumental internal decision she made and wrapped Sam’s mother’s hand mirror in a pair of pantalets for protection. She placed the bundle carefully in the second trunk Sam had designated for her more sentimental belongings. 

“When do you send these off?” 

“Tomorrow.” Putting her most cherished possessions in these two large trunks and sending them ahead of her own arrival in Colorado Springs was her own little insurance policy to ensure she did, actually, strike out and away. 

As Rebecca dropped a velvet pouch of Sam’s best hair combs into the trunk she said, “Then I guess you won’t be dressing _too_ much for your party.” 

“I’ll be dressed enough. It’s not a party for me anyway. The party is for dad. And his military associates. It’s just another society event – and I no longer have to concern myself with the intricacies of Baltimore society. Thank goodness.” 

Friends since their days in pinafores, Rebecca was keenly aware of her role in this conversation – and in what reassurances Sam would need. “Your father is proud of you.” 

“My father is proud that he produced someone so intelligent. He’d be prouder if it had been Mark who wished to pursue an advanced degree. I’m just as much a bewilderment.” Unlike many young women, she hadn’t spent her adolescence dreaming of marriage and children. Sam had been excited by the ideas of scientists and advancements. At twenty-four, she still couldn’t manage a respectable hair style without assistance from the housekeeper. 

“Well, at the very least, he’s proud you’re getting married.” Marriage had been her father’s idea. She wasn’t opposed, but she certainly hadn’t been in any hurry – not when life had so many other more interesting subjects on offer. 

Sam snorted. “Perhaps. Though I don’t really think this is what he had in mind.” This particular marriage, truly, wasn’t entirely the one he’d been planning since she came of age. While her father wasn’t wholly supportive of her impending departure to the frontier, he was undeniably excited that she was _finally_ doing as was expected of her. It was a serendipitous convergence of events, really, that precipitated this grand adventure. 

“If I had believed that this turn of events would result from my communications with Janet, I do think I’d have been more careful.” 

Rebecca tossed a lacy camisole at her face and laughed. “Do you forget I’ve heard you go _on and on_ about Jack O’Neill?” 

“I haven’t gone _on and on!”_ Just a few months in, Janet began mentioning her brother by marriage and, tongue-in-cheek, lamenting his need for a wife. Sam was intrigued by the stories Janet shared of her brother-in-law. And, in truth, she began to look forward to those parts of the letters specifically. She started inquiring after him. And then, apparently, peppering his name into one too many conversations. 

“It should have been telling how little you objected when your father started plotting along with that lawyer.” 

“To hear you talk, it was!” 

“Not telling to your father. Which, come to think of it, is more than a little strange. He’s set you up on more dates than paid matchmaker.” 

“Thank goodness it isn’t how he makes his living. He’s awful at it.” 

“He’s _fine_ at it.” 

“Then _you_ have a date with Mr. Faxon.” 

Rebecca’s face flushed. She quickly turned to pick up Sam’s better perfume bottles and hid behind her abundance of auburn curls. 

Sam grinned conspiratorially. “Do you _want_ to court Joe Faxon?” 

“Weren’t we talking about your impending nuptials?” 

“Not really,” but she let her friend off the hook anyway. “Besides, I hardly think this marriage can be thought of as anything more than a business arrangement. From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound as if Mr. O’Neill is all too motivated to find a wife for the wifelier purposes.” 

“Which suits you just fine.” 

“Of course.” 

Rebecca shoved the other two fancy dresses out of the way and pulled Sam down to sit beside her on the bed. “Don’t you want to talk about this _at all_?” 

No. She didn’t. Not even a little. “What is there to talk about?” 

“You’re deliberately running as far from home as you practically can, to marry a man who hasn’t expressed a desire for a wife, because you think that means he isn’t going to ask you to act like one. I _know_ you’re interested in the idea of him. Why won’t you entertain the notion that you might become interested in the real him?” 

Sam picked at a loose thread on her skirt. 

“Does this have anything to do with what happened with that policeman?” 

“Nothing happened.” 

“Because you were smart enough to see that he was _not_ a good man.” 

“So?” 

“So you’re a good judge of character.” 

“I liked him.” 

“Until he proved that you shouldn’t.” 

It was true. But Peter Shanahan was not the only precipitating event for her acceptance of this unusual arrangement. For a woman of marrying age, she had far less experience in the world of courting than she felt she might have, if only she’d been as interested in learning the art of attraction as much as she had been the laws of physics. And without her mother’s gentle guidance, there really hadn’t been much education or encouragement in that area until she’d come of age. It also seemed her father didn’t have much patience for the process. 

So maybe she was escaping to the frontier to give herself a little more time to figure out exactly how relationships worked and what she really wanted. She couldn’t help it if she thought it safe enough to bind herself to an older man who didn’t actually _want_ her. It would give her time to focus on the things most important to her anyway – the pursuit of knowledge chief among them. 

Rebecca sighed “You shouldn’t run to this marriage thinking it won’t be one. At the very least, run to it allowing for the possibility that it _might_ be real. You said he sounds kind.” 

“He does.” Janet had described Jack as a serious but kind fellow. He had seen his fair share of tragedy in life – Sam knew he’d both seen war and lost a wife and son. She tried not to think on the family he lost too much. Janet had shared that his reluctance to find another wife had to do with the fact that he seemed to still be so very in love with the one he lost. But Sam was intimately acquainted with holding deep and abiding love for someone who had departed. Her own mother’s death had left a gaping wound where the relationship once was. And while she thought the two losses were very different, she thought, perhaps, they were also a little the same. 

“Then allow for the possibility that this could be more than somewhere to bide your time.” Her friend’s hazel eyes were full of pleading but also familiar understanding. 

If she were entirely honest, her visions of life as a frontier wife were more about frontier _life_ than they were being a _wife_. She didn’t spend much time at all thinking about what that part of her new existence might be like. Though, Janet had referred to Jack as handsome on two separate occasions, so she’d be lying if she didn’t say she wasn’t at least a _little_ intrigued by the possibilities. 

“You think I’m going to go out there and fall in love with my husband?” Sam laughed to dispel her tension – not to mention her fear that she could do precisely that. “That sounds like something out of a serial.” 

“Stranger things have happened,” her friend said with a sly grin. Rebecca returned to packing, leaning to pick up two framed photographs of Sam’s mother from their place of honor on the vanity and wrapping them in the protective fabric of a winter robe. 

True love aside, Sam was intrigued by the idea of being partners with Jack O’Neill. She loved working with her hands, and she understood that he had a large piece of land which he farmed. There were several buildings. She was already dreaming about the modern conveniences of the city she’d adorn his property with. As a matter of fact, a full square foot of one of her trunks was taken up by the reference books – including one on indoor plumbing – that she couldn’t see fit to leave behind. 

“Come on,” Rebecca prodded and pushed Sam off the bed and onto her feet. “At the rate we’re getting you packed, we’ll miss the next _two_ morning trains.” 

Sam reached for another gown, less formal but still probably too much for her new home. She folded it anyway. In just another week she’d have her crisp new diploma in hand and train-bound for Denver, following the path of these very trunks. And a week after that, she would finally set foot in Colorado Springs. It suddenly felt like she had so much to do and so little time to do it. 

~*~ 

In the moments leading up to her graduation party, her father patted her on the shoulder and asked in his most patently earnest and coincidentally condescending voice – the one he used when General Carter was trying to bend someone’s will to match his own, “What exactly do you plan to do with this extensive education out there in the _wild west_?” The shape his face made as he said the words would have been comical if she weren’t so horrified to realize that her father was _looking down on her_ for going along with the arrangements that _he,_ himself, had made. 

Unfortunately, Sam’s reaction to any challenge from her father was to redouble her efforts to vex him. Any second thoughts that might have been swirling around in her belly were banished by the fire he lit. 

“I don’t know dad, but I suspect the laws of physics are the same in Colorado Springs as they are here in Baltimore. Somehow I’ll muddle through.” She knew opportunity for her to learn and research was greater here, where there were resources. But that didn’t mean she’d cease to be a forward thinker when she crossed the Mississippi River. 

“You’ll be bored before you’ve fully unpacked. What is a person of your intelligence supposed to do in a mining town?” 

How did he manage to compliment her and sound so discouraging at the same time? She huffed. “I thought you _wanted_ me to marry Jack O’Neill.” 

“I wanted you to _marry_. You’re twenty-four years old, Samantha. What are you waiting for?” 

She wasn’t fully prepared to discuss her former and well-established reluctance to marry with her father. “Nothing, anymore, I suppose. I’ll be married in a weeks’ time, won’t I?” 

“If you married Joe, I could walk you down the aisle. See you. Bounce my grandchildren on my knee.” 

“I don’t think I’m the one who decided my only options were Mr. Faxon or Mr. O’Neill. But now that I’ve agreed to this... _alternative_ you’ve presented to perhaps the blandest man I’ve ever met—” 

“He’s a good man, Samantha, and—” 

“I _know_. And he seemed kind. And reasonable. But did you _ever_ see the two of us together? People shouldn’t be that polite to one another, dad, I just don’t believe that. A marriage should have chemistry. And it shouldn’t all be perfectly pleasant.” She lowered her voice, to ensure that she wasn’t overheard by any of the staff buzzing around in preparation. “I _do_ remember mom. I remember the raucous laughter, _and_ the fights. But you loved each other very much, it was clear to anyone who ever saw you. I want to love someone enough to be willing to raise my voice with him – in joy, especially, if I’m lucky. And if I can’t have that, well, then I’ll settle for a grand adventure.” 

“You can have it, Sam. You can have anything you want.” 

Not if she stayed, but she knew he didn’t understand her reluctance to continue on in Baltimore society. And she couldn’t tell him all she’d need to in order to make him see. This was the next best thing. “This _is_ what I want.” 

“This O’Neill character better be good to you.” 

“I think we’ve both heard enough to believe that he will be.” 

He kissed her cheek. “Yes, well.” Her father. Never good with emotion. But she could tell most anything by the set of his jaw and she could see he was fighting for control of his emotions. He really would miss her. After all, he would soon be alone and then what? He could bully the staff, she supposed, but he never seemed to get as much joy out of it as he had pushing and prodding at his children. 

The sounds of guests arriving broke the heavy emotion threatening to settle around them. A practiced smile formed but didn’t rise up past his nose. “Are you entirely packed?” 

“Yes. Tonight is for celebrating my _extensive education_. And in the morning, we can worry about the rest.” 

He held out his arm to escort her into the ballroom. If his eyes seemed a little misty, she wouldn’t mention it. Hers, she was sure would be more than by the time she stepped onto the train in the morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Walt Whitman’s _Pioneers! O Pioneers!_  
>   
>  Setting is 99.8% courtesy of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman (and so are some of the plot points). But this isn't a crossover.
> 
> I'll select an appropriate rating once it's clear what that rating should be. I suspect it will be M(ature). But we'll see.


End file.
